


Stones

by Morgan_Dhu



Series: Poetry [25]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 07:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20150188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Dhu/pseuds/Morgan_Dhu





	Stones

Stones

From you,  
precious beyond the telling,  
I hoard them in a deeply curving, heavy-lidded brazen bowl,  
protected, cherished, safe from scoffing eyes  
which cannot see their wonder.  
I uncover them in silence,  
to meditate upon their souls   
and what they teach me of myself,  
and you.

Small and mottled green,  
shot with tangled threads of slate,   
it rests comfortably at the base of my fingers   
and lends them strength.  
The faith you have in me despite my faults,  
my fears, my battles with phantasms of my past,  
rejuvenates me, frees my tangled soul,   
and gives me courage.

Blackness tinged with purple   
scored and creased and carved by elements,   
yet keeping an essential bold integrity   
of content, shape and surface.   
Your will to speak the truth, to stand on troubled ground,   
and question all our gods, despite the scars,   
impassions me.

Startling streaks of white,   
lightning against darkness,  
driven through its substance,  
altering and changing without breaking it.  
Spark to flame, your words, your thoughts,   
draw from me acts and images,   
renew my longing to shape substance of my own   
out of the darkness,  
you inspire me. 

It cannot be contained, encompassed,  
only held within my open hand,  
but there it soothes and settles with its weight,   
and solid presence.  
Pain immediate, pain remembered,   
you meet and ease with boundless generosity,   
compassion without measure.

Colours that run and ripple,   
melting through and over one another, yet distinct,   
shot with heart's-blood,   
polished almost smooth, inviting to the touch,   
it nestles in my hand  
as though made for no other place but this.  
An offering that entered shyly,   
slowly spreading,   
connectedness that flows, suffusing through me,  
sinking heart-deep, soul-deep,  
your love becomes a part of me.

There are other stones.  
Some speak in whispers I have yet to understand,  
some lie warm but silent in my hand.  
They have not yet revealed their mysteries to me.  
There will be time.

July 27, 1997


End file.
